Hells Bells
by Starkiller
Summary: On the run up to the Battle of Hogwarts, the Grim Reaper is deuced into a deal which secures a curious fate for Fred Weasley. Meanwhile, George unwittingly wins the affections of Luna Lovegood. Prequel to Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives.
1. The Wedding

**A/N: **This story works as a sort of prequel to my other fanfic, Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives, and sheds some light on the characters of the Grim Reaper, Fred's love-interest, Nox Wolfe, and her father, Edward Balthazar McRozen. I'm also working on just how Luna's feelings for George Weasley developed and what the twins were up to throughout the year leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts. Hope you enjoy! D

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**Hells' Bells**

'_And as they looked, they saw a tall rider coming towards them, to the fens where Godric fell slaying the spindle-queen, Gudrun. The rider greeted the brothers three at the lip of the water's edge and warned them not to cross the river terrible, for crossing it would bring only death. The brothers bowed graciously, thanked him for his counsel, then raised their wands so that a bridge of glass strung on a hair was cast across the raging waters. _

'_Again the rider came, now fleshless, with shroud and pall bedight. "A blood toll must be paid, clever sons of tricks," said Death to the brothers three. "Now play thy game." _

_And they played.'_

– From 'The World Tree's Plunderer' (translated from the Scrolls of Merlin, first edition, by Sir Hector Archimedes Oddness)

**oOo**

"Beautiful wedding, but blast and botheration, Arthur!" Edward cried out in frustration. "You never mentioned that the old bat would be here. If I'd known I would have had Philius put some sort of anti-Aunt charm on my dear fat self."

Arthur smiled placidly at his old friend and handed him another drink. Edward Balthazar McRozen was a portly, eccentric, exuberant Squib, whose girth was as large as his heart. He was always impeccably dressed in a maroon waistcoat and lace under-shirt, and a gold engraved pocket-watch dangled precariously from his left pocket. His jacket had one brass button left (the others appeared to have popped off due to the intense strain) and his neck collar brandished a brightly spotted bow-tie. Tonight Edward must have decided to add something extra special to his outfit, in honour of the grand occasion, for a large, purple pork-pie hat currently sat at a jaunty angle on top of his head of fluffy greying hair.

"I'm afraid I had no choice in the matter, Ed," Arthur laughed. "I could no less hide a wedding from Muriel than I could a box of Zonko's tricks from my twins."

Edward grinned. "Oh yes, Fred and George! How are the lads? Last time I saw them their heads were level with my gut – bit smaller back then, mind," Edward said, patting his protruding stomach. "Do they take after you, ay, old bean-post?"

"No, they take after Molly more, I think," Arthur grinned and bumped Edward's glass with his own. "At least in height. They take after me in the tricks department."

"Of course, of course, I keep hearing about this marvellous shop of theirs': Weasley's Wizarding Whistles or something to the like," Edward bellowed with laughter. "Splendid place! Splendid! Put that antiques shop across from them in a right tizzy – I hear they've been complaining because of all the noise the kiddies are making. And the other day old Abner Tocks was telling me how a firecracker burst across the street and into his shop – broke every clock-face in the place! Marvellous!!"

Edward of course heard every last detail of the goings on in Diagon Alley as he was rarely out of the Leaky Cauldron, and therefore always in the thick of the gossip. He liked to think of the famous pub as his second home and Tom, the bartender, as something akin to family.

"Is that so?" said Arthur, arching his eyebrows high and smirking ever-so-slightly. "You'd better keep that from Molly. She'll go off her rocker if she hears the twins are wreaking even more havoc. You know, she did everything she could to prevent Fred and George from opening that shop. I think she might have preferred them to become lawyers or something of the like."

"Poppycock! Fred and George, lawyers? Shameful!" Edward shook his head vehemently. "They were always meant for greater things." He leaned forwards, his bright twinkling eyes suddenly dark and serious, and said in a hushed, secretive tone, "Times are getting darker again, Arthur. I don't have to be a wizard to feel it in my bones. Things are going to explode very soon and believe you me, when it happens, we'll need something to laugh about."

Arthur nodded his balding red head gravely. "I think you might be right about that, Ed."

The old friends shared a meaningful look.

"Well, dash it all, tonight is not a night for discussing silly social affairs and the devil's plights. Tonight is a night for true love," Edwards shouted, raising his glass of Firewhiskey high to the crowd, many of which laughed and cheered in reply, and began chanting the newly wedded couple's names.

Bill and Fleur were in the centre of the dance floor, swaying steadily to the golden-jacketed band on the podium; a smooth jazzy tune was playing in harmony to the hazy sunlit countryside around the Burrow. Groups of old friends and relatives were chatting all around the golden canopy, or dancing around the raised floor.

Arthur watched the peaceful scene and heaved a heavy sigh, his smile fading from his face. "I don't know, Edward. At the rate things are going I sometimes wonder if this won't be the last time we'll be together like this for a long while." He shook his head and raised sad, almost pleading eyes to his friend. "I don't think Molly could go through another war. What it did to her last time… I don't think she could go through that again. I know I couldn't."

Edward gripped his shoulder firmly and said, with a fixed, unwavering gaze, "Buck up, old boy. You won't lose any of them. Not a single one; I promise you." Arthur looked hopelessly at him, but Edward was obstinate as ever. He wrinkled his thick, handle-bar moustache and smiled broadly. "Now, look at that Luna Lovegood dancing all by herself! That girl is quite the charm, isn't she? Philius raised her well – old cracker that he is. You hear that Philius?!" Edward suddenly bellowed across the dance floor to an absurd looking man in omelette coloured dress robes.

Xenophilius Lovegood turned abruptly and waved happily back at them, flapping his hand up and down as if preparing to take flight. "Hello there, Edward! Can't quite hear you I'm afraid!"

"I said you're barking, Philius – absolutely bonkers!" Edward called back, sloshing the contents of his glass.

"Quite! Quite! I look forward to it!" Xenophilius replied then resumed his conversation with a couple of rather frightened looking witches.

"Blasted idiot gets worse every year," said Edward, shaking his head, "but an undiscovered genius, if I do say so myself – and our very dearest friend."

Arthur nodded, chortling. "Definitely. I do miss the old days. Feels like centuries ago these days."

Edward shot him a sharp look. "Don't say old days as if we were ancient, decrepit old things like Muriel. Oh I say, there's your lads now! Fred, George, come over here you wonderful fools!"

Two flame-haired, freckle-faced identical men pulled reluctantly away from their dancing partners – a pair of slender Veela girls in matching silver dresses – and strode towards the edge of the dance floor where their father and Edward were standing.

"Hello, Uncle Ed. Nice hat," Fred remarked with a cheeky sort of grin.

"Ah, well you _must_ be Fred. I always remember George as being the more innocent – at least as innocent as a jester of Merlin's court!"

"Innocent?" Fred's eyes bulged.

"Me?" asked George, arching his eyebrows high.

"Well, well," Fred shrugged. "Learn something new every day."

"Certainly news," George turned to his twin with a leer. "Always did suspect you were a dirty rotten scoundrel, mind. I daresay you've been leading me astray all these years!" He said, placing the back of his hand to his forehead in a dramatic gesture.

Fred cracked his knuckles and grinned menacingly. "Well someone had to teach you Georgie, otherwise we'd have had another blooming prefect or a hero in the family."

George looked horrified at the very idea. "I don't think I could stomach another one of those."

Chortling, Edward grabbed four more bottles of Firewhiskey from a passing waiter and thrust one each into Fred', George' and Arthur's hands.

"I was just telling your father that the last time I saw you two, you were only up to here on me," Edward told them, raising his hand so that it was just level with the remaining brass button on his dress robes.

Fred cracked another smirk and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that'd be the first time we've heard that tonight, Uncle Ed."

Edward roared with laughter. "Your neck might've grown, but I see you're still a cheeky little bugger! Molly's been writing to me about your antics for years, you know. The stories just kept getting better and better – 'specially that one about nasty old toad-face, Umbridge, though I don't expect I was meant to laugh at it."

"I thought you were up living in Glasgow," said George curiously. "You still get owls living out in the Muggle world, then?"

Edward gripped one of his lapels in his free hand and nodded, an air of severe pride around him. "Yes, I might be a Squib but I still like to keep one foot firmly in the wizarding world! Besides, who would buy any of my books out in that old fuddy duddy Muggle-land?"

"I've read a few – blooming marvellous stuff! Helped us out a few times in the lab, I can tell you that," Fred told him keenly. "I don't know how you do it, but you probably saved my arse a few times, and I do mean literally."

George let out a loud snort. "Don't be daft Fred, you don't read."

"True," Fred conceded with a casual wave of his hand at his twin, "but I get the gist of the books from you, so it's all the same thing in the end."

Edward heaved a heavy sigh. "It's a great pity that I haven't seen you boys in so long." He elbowed Fred in the ribs with one rather plump arm and leaned towards him in a conspiratorial whisper, "I have a daughter, you know; she's roughly the same age as you, and single too!"

It was Arthur's turn to laugh long and heartily. He was already a good quarter of the way through his current bottle of Firewhiskey and was shaking it vigorously along with his head. "Don't bother, Ed – Fred and George have managed more snogging action in the last month than the two of us have ever equalised in our whole lifetimes."

"Oi!" said the twins in unison, both of them looking thoroughly and equally disgusted that their father had used the word 'snog'.

"Ah, the devil take you, lads!" Edward cried, his eyes twinkling brightly as he turned his bottle on each of them in turn. "Find a good woman each and the world is your oyster, for each honest man knows that the heart of a good woman is his backbone!"

Fred and George gave him an uneasy sort of smile. "Right you are, Uncle Ed."

"And - ah! Speaking of fine young women, there's one as we speak – lovely Luna, yes, you my dear! Come over here. Come and speak to these fantabulous boys. Do you know each other? You do? Marvellous! Then you _must_ dance with one."

Luna Lovegood had been twirling on the dance floor for the past half hour entirely by herself, having lost her last dance partner, Ginny Weasley, to a bright-eyed, grinning boy with dreadlocks who she suspected might have been a friend of the Weasley twins. She floated towards the quartet standing on the edge of the dance floor, smiling vaguely. Her bright yellow dress matched her long, dirty blonde hair, in which was planted the head of a sunflower, and as she moved, the flounces of her dress and hair trailed dreamily along after her.

"Hello, Arthur, Uncle Edward," said Luna happily and pressed her hand first into the Squib's large palm and then took Arthur's offered hand with a little squeeze. "It's a beautiful evening here – I do love the music. I've been dancing for hours, though I had a little trouble with Wrackspurts earlier – they do tend to converge, you know, at this time of year."

"You're a wonderful dancer, Luna. We enjoyed watching your performance," said Arthur kindly, shooting a warning glance at the twins who were taking large gulps of Firewhiskey in an attempt to quell their laughter.

"Thank you, I must show you the mating dance of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack next; daddy saw it once when he was abroad and demonstrated it for me. It's very fascinating."

"I'm sure it is, Luna," said Arthur, raising his voice an octave to draw attention away from Fred, whose last mouthful of Firewhiskey was shooting out through his nose.

Edward raised his arms wide and smiled broadly at George. "Well, Luna, I think I've found you a suitable dance partner." He put his free hand against George's back and whispered briefly in his ear, "A good man never leaves a woman lonely on a dance floor." Edward gave him what he thought was a gentle push towards Luna, who was looking quite innocent and bemused. "Off you go the pair of you – go dance the dance of the Rumpleskinned Spitting-Cat, or however it is you young folk dance these days."

George threw a quick, desperate look across his shoulder at Fred, who crossed his heart then saluted gravely, and muttered, "Don't worry George, I'm sure I'll manage to keep the Veela cousins well entertained until you get back. Course, with the language barrier and everything, I doubt we'll have a lot to _talk_ about." He grinned wickedly and George mouthed a few choice swear words at him before leading Luna into the middle of the dance floor.

"Oh good," said Fred looking delighted. "A slow song too. They'll have to get real close for this one. So, Uncle Ed," he said, turning back to him, "where is your daughter… er…?"

"Gertrude," Arthur finished for him.

"Oh good Merlin, Arthur! Don't ever let her catch you calling her that – she point-blank refuses to go by anything other than her middle-name, Nox."

"Don't blame her," Fred muttered under his breath.

Edward was suddenly smiling very fondly and clutching his near-empty bottle to his chest. "Knows her own mind, my girl, and won't let no one have it. Course, I thought it better to keep her apart from all the wizarding world because… Well, let's just leave it at that, shall we."

"It's been years since I've seen her, Edward," said Arthur thoughtfully. "In fact I don't think I've seen her since that incident at Portobello Road, do you remember?"

Edward suddenly paled.

"Oh yeah," said Fred, scratching the back of his neck thoughtfully, "I remember that day. Bloody horrible. Didn't that little Muggle girl get knocked down by a bus? I remember you wrapping her up in your cloak and dad telling us not to look." Fred paused for a moment, as if trying to recall a long-distant memory, then suddenly, he clicked his fingers, looking satisfied with himself. "That's right; me and George were left with –"

"Fred, I do believe that's those lovely Veela girls you were dancing with!" Edward interrupted hurriedly, dabbing his neck with handkerchief. "Look here, they're coming this way. Go on, never leave a woman waiting and all that. Truly wonderful catching up, Frederick." He patted him tenderly on the shoulder. "Take care, son."

Fred looked bemused, but smiled nonetheless. "You too, Uncle Ed."

Edward watched the second Weasley twin disappear into the crowd with a beautiful, silver-haired Veela girl on each arm. His brow furrowed in concern.

"Ed? Ed?_Edward?_" Arthur pressed worriedly – it took a moment for Edward to notice the hand on his arm. "Everything alright? You're sweating a bit."

Edward shook him off with a smile and said, "What, this? No, Arthur. This is what happens to a fat man wearing dress robes in high summer. Come on, let's join the rest of the scoundrels and scallywags, shall we?"

The last rays of the sun disappeared around half past ten, and night settled in on the wedding party. The lanterns were lit and the moths and midges were fluttering excitedly in the golden glow. Fred and George had sneaked off with a couple of Fleur's Veela cousins in hand to a secluded willow tree in the neighbouring field, much to Molly's displeasure.

"This is hardly the kind of impression I wanted to give the Delacours," Molly huffed despite the pinkness in her cheeks from all the sparkling champagne (imported specially from Paris by Fleur's parents). "I don't know what they'll think of us now."

"They're young, Molly – let the boys have their fun," Arthur said, patting her hand gently then pulling her onto the empty dance floor on a sudden whim. Molly resisted only a fraction of a second then, surrendering, she slid happily into Arthur's open arms, and they rocked together slowly on the floor. The band were currently sitting by the table laid with Butterbeers, cakes and Firewhiskey, having certainly earned a break, and the only music came from the intoxicated trio of Hagrid, Charlie and Edward, whose loud and energetic rendition of 'Odo the Hero' had a delighted Luna clapping along:

'_And Odo the hero, they bore him back home  
To the place that he'd known as a lad!  
They laid him to rest with his hat inside out  
And his wand snapped in two, which was sad!'_

A few people were pulling up their friends and partners onto the dance floor, jigging along to the lively, bellowed tune, until eventually the entire wedding party were jumping and clapping and singing along. When the silver cloudy shape fell through the canopy to land on the floor amidst the dancers, few people really understood what it meant until well after it had raised its feline head and said:

'_The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.'_

At first there was silence, thick and daunting, and leaden with confusion as guests turned to one another with questioning faces, seeking an answer or an explanation to the peculiar prank that had just been played – for surely it had to be a joke. Surely _they_ weren't coming. Everyone knew who _they_ were, and that simply was not possible.

A scream shattered the silence like a broken mirror and people suddenly scattered everywhere like shards of glass, running blindly and Apparating everywhere.

"The enchantments 'round the Burrow must be broken," said Charlie urgently, leaping to his feet.

"Bleedin' 'ell!" Hagrid was shouting, red faced and looking very close to tears. "Not now! Not 'ere, they _can't_ be!"

"They are," said Edward grimly. "Come on old friend, it won't do hanging about here. We must get everyone to safety!"

Charlie nodded his head fiercely. "Right you are, come on Luna!" He grabbed Luna by the wrist and began leading her through the jostling crowd, but Luna was shaking her head, an uncharacteristic fiery look in her usually misty, distant eyes.

"Wait! I have to find daddy first," she said and slipped out of Charlie's grasp. Charlie tried to weave his way after her, but was pushed back by an increasingly panicked crowd. Screams and cries of terror suddenly escalated as masked figure after masked figure Disapparated into the area. Some of the guests were violent in their panicked state, shoving and, in some cases, propelling their way through the crowd. Luna ignored Charlie's frantic cries behind her, caught sight of her father on the opposite end of the dance floor. She was reaching her arm out in a vain effort to catch his attention when a large hand wrapped its fingers around her throat and flung her ruthlessly to the floor. Luna's head hit the platform with a crack and when her vision swam back into view, she saw a tall, black-cloaked figure rising over her, wand pointed at her throat.

"_Protego!_" a familiar cry echoed above her, blasting her masked attacker off his feet. In another instant, George was in front of Luna, scooping her into his arms and darting to the band stand where Xenophilius stood with Edward, looking frantic and terribly vexed.

"Thank you, dear boy! A thousand times, thank you!" Xenophilius spluttered, taking Luna gratefully from George's arms.

"Don't mention it," said George hastily. "Just get out of here now. You'll have to take Edward with you."

"Balderdash! I'm not leaving this spot without seeing off at least one Death – " but the portly Squib did not have another second to finish his retort because George had shoved him roughly into Xenophilius, who Disapparated a moment later with a _crack!_

An instant later they were standing in a quiet, dark lane off Buchanan Street, Glasgow. Despite the late hour, the street was teaming with people young and old, striding up and down the brightly lit sloping hill. Glasgow was a city that never slept.

Xenophilius turned to Edward and said in a panicked, wild voice, "I'm afraid this is the only place in Glasgow I know. Will you be alright getting home from here?" His breathing was erratic and he kept looking wildly at the blood matting the back of Luna's hair. His eyes began to fill with tears at the sight.

Edward nodded slowly, feeling quite unable to take everything in. "This is fine, Philius, just fine. We can take a taxi home from here."

"We?" Xenophilius shook his head fervently. "Oh no, we have to get home. Luna must –"

"- Must be taken to a safe place," Edward answered him. "And I'm fairly certain, old friend, that anywhere in Ottery St Catchpole is far from that, tonight." He watched with a sympathetic eye as Xenophilius instinctively clutched Luna closer to his chest. Edward gripped his arm and led him onto the bustling walkway of Buchanan Street. "Come along, it's the least this old Squib can do. For now, at least."

**oOo**

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**A/N:** Please review! I'd love to hear what you think. Sorry if there's too much Edward here. I just wanted to establish his character right away, old fat Squib that he is (squeezes ). Note – I love George x Luna XD 


	2. Shatter Point

A/N: Thank you so much to the people who reviewed and faved this fic! Sorry for the wait in this chapter. To make it up I made two trailers for this fic and its sequel, Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives. You can find the links to the videos on my profile if you fancy checking 'em out

Enjoy!xxx

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**Hells' Bells**_  
_

_The eldest of the Peverell brothers, Antioch, stood forward, strong jaw locked and proud mouth smiling. 'I will play your game,' he said._

'_Choose your gift,' said the figure of Death, 'but heed, choose wisely, else follow me across the river terrible to your doom.'_

'_Then grant me a wand fit for a hero; a wand that must never betray its owner in battle; a wand worthy of the man who grinned in the face of Death!'_

_So Death plucked a single twig from the elder tree on the opposite bank of the river and handed it to the eldest brother. Antioch turned the wand in his hand, looking grim, but Death assured him that a twig from the World Tree would never lose a duel in battle, for the World Tree's roots grew deep, deep into the earth…_

– From 'The World Tree's Plunderer' (translated from the Scrolls of Merlin, first edition, by Sir Hector Archimedes Oddness)

**oOo****  
**

"Oi! Get your filthy hands off our sister, snake eyes!"

"– unless you fancy living the rest of your life minus a pair of –"

"Fred. George. That's enough." Arthur was up on his feet and placing his hands firmly on each of the twins' shoulders, wrenching them away from the Death Eater they had just lunged towards. Arthur's own eyes never left the masked wizard who had his arms wrapped tightly around his daughter's waist, pinning her own arms to her sides.

"They only want to search the house. They don't want to harm us," Arthur was saying, as much to reassure himself as anybody else. "They'll leave once they have made sure Harry Potter is no where in the vicinity." He raised his eyes to the Death Eater who was standing at the forefront of the crowd of masked figures. "Isn't that right, Rudolphus?"

Rudolphus Lestrange smirked and removed his scull-like mask. "Trying to barter with me, Arthur? Interesting. I thought you had more backbone than that; your spirited sons certainly appear to have." He turned his head sharply towards Molly who was sitting on the couch between Mr and Mrs Delacour. Molly's face was beetroot and she was shaking so hard with rage that she almost resembled a kettle coming to the boil, and her glittering brown eyes were glaring hatefully back at Rudolphus.

"Molly, isn't it? How are your brothers?" Rudolphus gave a cruel chuckle. "Oh, that's right. Slaughtered, weren't they? Sadly I wasn't around to see them die, but I heard they squealed like pigs." He made a quick signal to the looming crowd behind him and in the next instant Fred and George were shoved to their knees, a pair of wands pointing at the back of their heads. "I wonder how loud your twins will scream. Or might they beg for their mother first?"

"Sod off, prick!" growled Fred, but only received a heavy blow to the head from the Death Eater holding him.

Molly sobbed and wailed in despair; it took Arthur, the Delacours and Lupin to hold her back as she threw herself violently towards them.

Rudolphus only smiled and continued to stalk casually in front of the kneeling twins like a cat, his tall back straight and proud. "Now, perhaps you'll feel a little more inclined to talk. So tell me, where is Potter?"

"Tough nuts, chump! He's not here," snapped Tonks, who was leaning over the couch above Lupin, a Death Eater shadowing her. "He never _was_. We were havin' a wedding for bleeding sakes! Or doesn't that mean anything to you lot?" she glowered at him ferociously through a pair of vibrant violet eyes.

Rudolphus only sneered at the witch as if she were no more than a stick of used gum stuck to the bottom of his boot. He walked in front of George, placing his heavy booted foot on the back of his neck, and pushed him ruthlessly into the floor. Ginny launched into a stream of surprisingly colourful invectives while Fred wriggled and kicked furiously under the Death Eater holding him until eventually two more were needed just to keep him on the floor. Molly was sobbing almost uncontrollably now, Arthur squeezing her tightly on the couch beside her.

Rudolphus glowered, all pretence of civility and politeness gone. "I find it very difficult to believe that a group of Harry Potter's staunchest supporters has no inclining of his whereabouts. It would be a pity to have to bleed it out of you."

"Well that's the point, isn't it!" yelled Tonks furiously, despite her husband's desperately muttered hints to keep silent. "Why would we have him here? It's a bit obvious, ain't it?" Below her, Lupin had to resist putting a hand to his eyes and groaning.

"Then you admit to _knowing_ where Potter is?"

Tonks paled. Rudolphus had caught her out.

"That's not what I meant," she answered quickly.

Lupin suddenly stood to his feet, ignoring the half-dozen wands that were instantly pointed at his body. His scarred, lined face looked tired but stern as he faced Rudolphus. "What Tonks means is, given our past history with the accused, Harry Potter would not place our friends and families in such … a predicament… by staying any place in the vicinity. Especially not on this day of all days," he said and motioned with his arm to the corner of the room where Bill stood clutching a shivering Fleur in his arms, both of whom were flanked by Death Eaters.

Lupin continued, "Neither do we have any knowledge of Potter's current whereabouts. He would not confide in us and we have not inquired. I swear to that."

Rudolphus sneered. "A half-wolf's oath means little to me." However, he lifted his boot off George's head and walked at a leisurely pace back to the centre of the room. "Let's start from the beginning then. We'll interview you separately, one by one." He pointed at Ginny, who glowered at him mulishly. "Why don't we start with this feisty thing? Take her into the back and for every lie she tells you can cut off another one of her brother's appendages," he said, grinning at the little black hole in the side of George's head. The surrounding masked figures laughed sneeringly while Ginny was dragged from the room.

**oOo**

There was nothing remarkable about the McRozen household, just a simple two bedroom apartment along Victoria Road. It was an old apartment; Edward flat out refused to live in a place younger than the years he'd tallied up himself, and often complained to his disapproving daughter that twentieth century buildings had as much depth to them as a fried egg.

The front room in the apartment had been transformed so that it now functioned as a sitting room/dining room and Edward's workspace. Piles of books and papers were scattered across the table and floor. Peculiar objects gathered from all four corners of the earth covered every inch of space left on the shelves and along the mantelpiece; jewelled compasses, monkey paws, maps charting unknown territories, clocks whose roman numerals had been scratched out and replaced with ingredients belonging in a potions class or Alchemist's, not an old Squib's office.

Four tall windows looked out onto Queen's Park, the dome of the botanical gardens just visible through the trees. Edward quickly closed the curtains to the view. He was not taking any chances. Not this night. He ushered Xenophilius Lovegood into the room with a brisk wave of his hand. Luna was still in her father's arms, sleeping fitfully. The gash in her head had stopped bleeding, but Edward knew she was suffering a severe concussion. Tossing a box of springs and sprockets from the couch, he motioned to Xenophilius who carefully laid his daughter down onto the soft cushions and promptly began to dress her wound. When he was done he stood over Luna, snivelling loudly.

"Come along there, Philius," said Edward with a sympathetic pat on his friend's shoulder. "Stop all that weeping. It could have been far worse you know. _Far_ worse."

Xenophilius moaned and replied in a teary voice, "She's my little girl, Edward. My only little girl. What would I do without her? I tell you I would sell my soul to the Devil if it would keep her from harm."

Edward froze, a feeling over foreboding washing over him like ice water. For that split second, with his hand on Xenophilius's shoulder, he found himself looking through the cracked face of a mirror glass. In the dimness of the glass he saw his friend kneeling before several masked figures, pausing a fraction of a second, before nodding his head in misery.

Edward grimaced. This was a Shatter Point, a term coined to describe an event or occurrence that could affect future events or the destinies of certain individuals. By large it was known as the Highland Second-sight, and in times gone by even Muggles had been prone to these prophetic images. It was not magic, but a fleeting vision of a possible future that any creature could glimpse if they had their eyes and hearts opened wide enough. There were, however, witches and wizards who attempted to harness and cultivate this power in the art of Divination, most of whom failed miserably. The future was always in motion, after all. There was never a sure outcome to any event; even in a prophecy.

"_Animum__ rege!_ my dear old cracker!" Edward exclaimed, having regained himself, and moved across the carpet to his secret cupboard where a half a bottle of Glen Moray was stashed. "Do not talk so rashly. You remember the tale of the Lay of St Cuthbert where poor Sir Guy Le Scroope invited the Devil so readily to tea? Now here, a single malt is what you need to put some fire in your belly." He filled two short glasses with the amber liquid and handed one to Xenophilius.

They sat together at the table in silence, neither wanting to voice their fears concerning the Weasleys or what had remained of the wedding party before they had Apparated to safety.

"She's all I have left," said Xenophilius finally, finishing his whiskey. "All I've got left in this whole world. You do understand that, don't you? I'm not being an imbecile or a foolish, selfish… selfish idiot." He raised his large, watery eyes to Edward's, searching for a glimmer of understanding.

Edward smiled, the tips of his bushy grey moustache reaching his eyes. "You're being a father, Philius. All a father ever wants is to protect their family, their little girl…"

"But the war has really started again, hasn't it?" Xenophilius whispered, his eyes straying back to Luna sorrowfully. "Poor, dear Arthur."

"He is not dead," Edward replied shortly, pouring them a second round. "None of them are. The Weasleys are made of stronger stuff than to up and die in one ruddy night."

Xenophilius was watching him glumly. Edward could feel his friend's pity and fear burning a hole through him. He grumbled irritably, but knew it would be no good getting into an argument.

"They are fine," he repeated. "Bill, Ron, Charlie and the twins are fierce duellers, as is Fleur, I am told. And Remus and Tonks would not have left the family on their own. Why I saw them casting a good spell just as we –"

"These are HIS men, Edward," Xenophilius suddenly hissed vehemently. "Or does your eternal optimism challenge even the Dark Lord?"

Edward put down his glass roughly. "It is better to stare down Death with a fool's bravery, than it is to look upon his shroud with a coward's eyes."

"Fools are killed, Edward."

"So are _cowards._"

"Dad?" a tired voice called from the hall. "What's going on? You're back earlier than I thought you'd be."

A young woman, no older than nineteen, stumbled into the doorway, blocking the light from the hallway so that the dark, unlit sitting room grew darker still. Her baggy, holy pyjamas hung slack against her boyish frame and her dark hair was unruly and sticking to her cheek on one side where she had lain against it in bed. She scratched her head sleepily and pointed at Xenophilius, half-frowning, half-yawning.

"Who'sh thish then?" she asked, blunter than usual due to being only half-awake.

"An old friend," answered Edward, smiling fondly at his daughter. "Go to sleep, Gertie."

"_Nox,_" she corrected him, but too tired to argue any further, nodded politely at Xenophilius before staggering back to her bedroom.

Edward turned back towards Xenophilius, regarding him kindly. "An old, silly fool of a friend." His eyes twinkled in good humour.

"That I am. And best you remind me from time to time," said Xenophilius, a smile spreading across his face for the first time since Kingsley Shacklebolt's Patronus had come sailing through the golden wedding canopy.

Edward stood and clapped his hands lightly together. "The hour is late and the night has been rife with darkness and bad omens, but let us put our fears to sleep, along with our fat and skinny selves, yes?"

"Thank you, Ed."

Edward paused. In all their years as friends, Xenophilius had never once called him that, despite their regarding one another as nothing short of brothers. His dear friend's eyes were warm and glittering mirth.

Edward grasped his forearms gently and grinned. "Leave it to your old, fat Squib, Philius. Tonight does not mean the end of all things. Have heart… You will see."

**oOo**

The stars were out. Each pinpoint of light was larger than a button hole and shone brighter than a firedrake's flame against the black velvet sky. Fred missed them when he was in the city. Some nights it was difficult enough to glimpse the moon through the London smog. He took a swig from his bottle of Firewhiskey and debated whether he was being a tad exaggerative.

Fred was sitting amongst the branches of an old oak, its roots running deep under a burn which gurgled two fields away from the Burrow. He could glimpse the smoking chimneys and yellow lights from his house, and vaguely wondered if his mum wasn't still cleaning the place compulsively. It was her way of dealing he supposed, glancing down to the half-full bottle in his hand. Fred suddenly wished he had brought more. He leaned back against the trunk of the tree, one arm cradling his head. This was his place – well, his and George's. What was his was his twin's after all. Only tonight he had left the house to escape George as much as his mother and Ginny's tears, and frustrated cries.

Since the night Snape had cursed off George's ear, something had changed between he and his twin. For one thing, Fred had been struck with a sickening dose of reality: their luck wasn't infallible. He couldn't stop looking at that small, dark, unforgiving hole in the side of his brother's head. Fred hated that it had made it so easy for people to tell them apart. No more Gred and Forge. They'd know who he was, not because of the differences in personality, but because of a bloody curse that Snape – beaky, greasy Snape, had tossed his twin's way.

'_You'll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Mum.'_

Fred rarely felt regret or guilt, but now it stuck in his throat like grit or a piece of glass. The child in him wanted to wrap his arms possessively around his twin and throw the finger at anyone with who might mean his brother harm. But he knew George better than that. He knew his twin wanted to fight as badly as he did. Neither of them would be content to sit in the back row, twiddling their thumbs.

"Great, stupid prat," Fred muttered and took another angry swig.

His eyes roamed over the moonlit fields until he spotted the large willow where he and George had been smacking lips with two of Fleur's gorgeous Veela cousins. Nothing more than snogging, mind. He had a bit more respect than that – or had it been the pretty French cousin who had stopped _him_ from going too far? Fred shrugged. All he could remember was the pleasant flowery smell of the girl's hair and the swell of her warm breast as she pushed eagerly up against him. He grinned. What was her name? Antoinette? Maybe he was just making that up – it was the only French name he knew after all, but he'd been certain that he'd been calling, or _moaning_, that name in her ear.

"'Antoinette'… '_Antoinette'…_" he tested the name, then putting on a deeper French accent, repeated in loud, slurring tones, "_Antoinette! Gah, Antoinette! _Hawhawwhaww, sacre bleu! What eez thees vision before my eyes, ANTOINETTE!"

"I worry about you sometimes," a voice said flatly from the ground.

Fred turned sharply to peer over the bough beside him, nearly losing his balance on the thick branch. George smirked up at him, arms folded across his chest.

"Should I bog off and leave you and Antoinette to it, eh?" he asked.

Fred grinned and reached his arm down to his twin. "Nah. There's room for one more, mate."

George observed his hand with a staged air of disgust. "I'm flattered, but you're not really my type, Fred."

"Stop stalling and get up here you bloody git." Fred caught his twin's hand and hauled him up the tree until they were sitting side by side, leaning their backs into the trunk. Silence grew between them and Fred wasn't at all sure if it was a comfortable one or not. He offered his bottle and George took it gratefully.

"Mum's stopped scrubbing the house bare," he said, taking a small swig and handing it back. "Ginny had another fit at her and Mum burst out crying. But it's alright now. Think they've finally gone to bed."

"You play mediator again, eh?" Fred asked. "You should've just left them to it, Georgie. Mum needed to let off some steam and Ginny's just worrying about Harry. They'll be alright. You know Mum's the strongest one of us anyway." He grinned, but he knew his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

George sent him a cool appraising sort of look. After a moment he sighed and tilted his head up to the sky. "I'm alright you know. No bruising," he chuckled wryly. "Well, my ego's bruised a bit. You can stop beating yourself round your fat head, Fred. I'm getting sick of it."

But Fred shook his head impatiently. "Put yourself in my shoes first."

George considered him for a moment then drew his knees up close, hanging his head between them. "I'm too drunk to talk about this."

"That must've been a hefty swig," Fred laughed, but soon caught the look on his brother's face. "Oi, George…" he trailed off, finding himself lost for words for the second time this month. Finally he settled for elbowing his twin playfully in the ribs.

George elbowed him back and pointed dramatically at the burn. "You fancy swimming with the fishes, or what?"

"I'll pass, cheers."

Fred and George shared a look full of meaning, then, for no good reason at all, they broke into peels of gut-wrenching laughter for many long minutes. It was as if all the seriousness and tension of the wedding had cracked something in them, but it bled away into the stillness of the night with their laughter, until they were both too exhausted to continue. The moon had gone behind a cloud. It was strange, the two of them laughing in the dark and the silence, miles away from anyone, even the Burrow. Fred couldn't even make out the little black hole in the side of George's head.

**oOo**

Luna had been very impressed with George Weasley's skill on the dance floor. Of course, she had no one to really compare him with. She supposed adults didn't really count because they always danced with you in that jolty, clownish way, grinning and saying, 'my how you've grown in the last ten years!'

Dancing with George had been very different indeed. One hand slid into the curve of her back and he took her right hand gently into his – she felt a hint of his strength in that grip. His palm had been soft and warm, but the tips of his fingers were rough and callous against the back of her hand. She could see tiny scars there – injuries from Quidditch or explosive experimentations for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products. He talked to her like an old friend, joking and chatting away good naturedly, even though she knew he was desperate to return to the beautiful Veela girl he had been dancing with before her father's friend had forced them together. Still, even after the first song, George had insisted on dancing a second and even a third. Then he had asked her what subjects she planned on taking at Hogwarts this year and what she wanted to do after school, then they had laughed at the memory of Dolores Umbridge.

Her head throbbed with a dull sort of pain. Luna opened her eyes and glanced down the side of the couch to where her father was snoring on a camp bed. They were not home, but the apartment she was in smelled cosy and warm, like coffee and fresh bread in the morning.

Luna touched the back of her head thoughtfully, feeling flecks of crusted blood there. George had come to her rescue too. It had been very good of him, she thought distantly, to want to save her when he could have been protecting someone else. Her stomach dipped uncomfortably as a thought struck her: where was he now? A quick glance around the room told her that she and her father were the only two there. Her heart sank and she did not sleep a wink more the rest of the night.

**oOo**

* * *

**A/N:** Gaww, I love George x Luna. Heck I just love Luna! And Fred, the player. Hope you enjoyed that chapter (and er that it made enough sense…). To people who are following this and TVPD, I will try and not reveal too many spoilers! 


	3. The Grim Irishman

**A/N:** Thank you for the reviews! I'm really quite surprised that people are reading this one lol! XD Sorry you've had to wait a while, but seeing as I'm posting this in conjunction with "Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives", I don't want to give too much away in this story. But I'm finally at a point in TVPD where I can release a bit more info. Still, be warned: if you don't want to know who Caithion Sidhe is, **do not read this chapter!** You've been warned, mwaha!

* * *

_The second brother, Cadmus, came forwards to face Death, though he did not raise his eyes to him, and whispered, "All I want is my love returned."_

_The figure of Death smiled. "That is a heavy wish indeed, with a heavier price. To bring back the dead, an equal price must be paid, for there is nothing heavier than the weight of a life. Will you accept all consequences?"_

"_Anything for my love."_

"_Noble gesture, or selfish deed. All things are told in time." And he plucked a fruit from the World Tree and placed it in the second brother's hand and said, "You shall see your love again."_

– From 'The World Tree's Plunderer' (translated from the Scrolls of Merlin, first edition, by Sir Hector Archimedes Oddness)

**oOo  
**

**Hell's Bells**

Death stood in the neat little kitchen, looking down at the bloody mess on the floor. His thin lips twitched in distaste. Humans really were a most inventive species when it came to killing one another. They had turned maiming, disfiguring and rendering innocents limb from limb into something of an art form. Vaguely, he wondered what this little old couple had done to deserve their gruesome deaths. Their country was of course in a state of open warfare – it had been going approximately…. Death checked his wristwatch… two hours, fifteen minutes and twenty-two seconds – and the scorch marks around the wrists and ankles certainly looked to be the work of Dark Wizards. Death remembered how fond _they_ had been of such recreational sports twenty years ago.

He reached inside his robe and pulled out a small role of parchment, ticking off the names of the two bodies lying recumbent at his feet, (_David and Mavis Dunbridge, 70 and 78, Stoke-on-Trent, UK, The World, The Universe_), and frowned despondently. There was a third name: _Champ, golden retriever, 5_. Now then, where'd he got to?

A drop of blood hit the blade of his scythe with a _plop_. A second landed on his nose. He glanced up.

'_Ah.'_

He ticked off the name then rolled the piece of parchment up, tucking it somewhere amongst the dark folds of his cloak. All three had passed on without any nuisance. Death really couldn't be bothered entering into another conversation like the one he'd had an hour ago in Manchester with a young waitress who had been struck in the face with a killing curse.

'_But I _CAN'T_ be dead!' _

'_Yes. I'm afraid you are. So if you would just drop the spirit of your cheesecake _(for all things have some sort of soul, even cheesecake)_ and follow me through-' _

'_But I was on my break! An' right in the middle of watching Coronation Street, I'll add, cheers. How can you expect me to just up and DIE without knowing whether or not Alfred's affair with his brother's wife's niece will come to a head? That's just bad taste, that is!'_

Death had coolly attempted to explain the country's current state of war, to which the girl had replied, _'Wha'-? We been invaded by France again or sum'in'?'_

No, the old couple in Stoke-on-Trent and their dog had not needed Death's help. They had moved on peacefully. Everything was as it should be…

Only it _wasn't_.

Death had first picked up on the imbalance twenty years ago, during the Dark Lord Voldemort's first war. The shift in the scales had been minute, but Death had picked it up almost immediately, like the avid music fan who can catch even the tiniest blip on his favourite record. Unfortunately, the blip Death had caught twenty years ago had developed into a series of loud, intrusive hiccups that could no longer be ignored.

He took hold of his scythe in both hands. With one quick flick of the blade, a tiny tear in the mortal world appeared, outlined in front of the kitchen sink as though someone had drawn a door in the air with a blue sparkler. Death gave one last glance at the dog nailed to the ceiling, then stepped through the door and was gone.

**oOo**

Few people knew where Fred and George disappeared to when they needed to make themselves scarce, for years of practise had made them exceptionally good at doing so. The branches of the old oak, standing two fields from _the Burrow_ by a peat-water burn had always made for a perfect hiding place. Unfortunately there was one other Weasley who was always clued up on the whereabouts of the twins.

Charlie _made_ it his business to know.

Picking up two smooth pebbles from the burn, he tossed them gently in the air, feeling the weight in his palm. Then, taking careful aim, he launched them into the tree.

"OW!"

"_BOLLOCKS!"_

"Morning," said Charlie, all pleasantries. "Sleep well?"

The reply was a string of expletives and several pained groans.

"Well, serves you right for sleeping in a tree," said Charlie, shrugging his broad shoulders unsympathetically. "'urry up and get your lazy twin arses down here."

A crate of empty Firewhiskey bottles was unceremoniously shunted out of the tree, followed by Fred who swung into view, hanging upside-down from a branch by his legs and looking a bit worse for wear.

"Good aim as ever, I see," he grumbled at his elder brother, rubbing the lump on the back of his head where the pebble had hit him. He swung back up and jumped onto the ground, George close on his heels.

"Blimey, seven a.m.? Bit earlier ain't it, Charlie?" George grumbled, tapping the face of his little gold wristwatch in disbelief. "Bleedin' mad as a spoon, you are."

"Yeah, well Mum's going spare," said Charlie as they began trudging back across the fields towards _The Burrow_. "I've gotta get you back home before she vents her spleen or something. Then I'm leaving soon as I can-"

"_What?_" Fred spluttered angrily. "You're just up and leaving like this? Now?With bloody masquerade nutters running around, smiting everyone?"

Charlie shrugged his broad shoulders, helplessly. "Got no choice in the matter. If the country's at war, we need to spread word as fast as possible. Recruiting foreign witches and wizards and warning them of the danger is more important now than ever. We'll need the help."

"Can't you stick around a little longer?" George asked, but Charlie shook his head firmly.

"Can't risk it. If Voldemort really is in control of the Ministry, then he's sure to clamp down on witches and wizards travelling abroad, 'specially ones under suspicion, like us."

Fred grunted. "There's a lot of Death Eaters out there that wouldn't owl us up for a second date, but they can't suspect too much, can they?"

"Why'd you say that?" said George.

Fred tossed him a careless grin. "We're still alive, aren't we?"

When they reached _The Burrow_, familiar raised voices met their ears.

"Well he's GONE isn't he? And Merlin knows where!"

Fred paused at the door, gesturing to his brothers with one hand to stop behind him.

"I _knew_ it," they heard their mother wail from the kitchen side, "I knew it all along, I _knew_ they were up to something, all three of them. Oh, how could they. How could _Harry?_ They're only children! What do they expect they can do against him that the Order _can't_?"

"Harry would never purposefully put them in any danger, Molly. Not unless he was sure it was the only way," Lupin's voice was saying, gently. "And Ron and Hermione are loyal friends. You know they could never let him set off on his ow-" He paused.

There were footsteps, then the door was swung open and Fred stumbled into Lupin's chest. "Is there something I can do for you or would rather continue eavesdropping in a more comfortable location with these?" said Lupin, pulling a string of Extendable Ears from his pocket.

Charlie coughed embarrassedly and walked inside, but Fred and George only grinned, for people like the twins never _really_ got embarrassed. People got embarrassed on their behalf.

"Don't stop on our account," Fred waved, shamelessly.

"Really, the suspense is terrible. I was hoping it'd last a bit longer." George stopped beside his mother, placing an arm over her shoulders. "So where's Ron gone, then?"

"Don't tell us the Golden Trio are off on another mission for glory again. Really, would it have hurt to have asked us along? I mean, two daft buggers and one egghead isn't much to go on, is it?" said Fred, a bit sulkily.

"Don't be so clever, Fred," Mrs Weasley snapped waspishly.

"I can't help it. Born that way." Fred glanced around the room at the ashen faces of Lupin, Tonks, Bill and his father. He frowned. "They really have buggered off, then. Blimey."

"_Fred…_" Mrs Weasley hiccupped.

"We think it might have something to do with old Albus, but I'll be buggered if I know what," said Tonks gloomily. "Must've disappeared around about the time the Death Eaters started crashing the party."

"We have to trust that they know what they're doing," Mr Weasley said, firmly. "Harry's a very capable young wizard; he won the Triwizard cup for Merlin's sake! Hermione's likely the greatest young witch of her time, and Ron – er… well Ron is…"

"A plonker," Fred supplied.

Mrs Weasley dropped into a chair and moaned. "They're _children_."

"Who have amassed greater knowledge and more experience than most fully-educated witches and wizards," said Lupin.

"That doesn't excuse the fact that they are still – Fred, George! Where do you think you're going?" Mrs Weasley shouted, jumping to her feet at once.

"Work, Mum," said Fred.

"What? Now?" Bill asked, looking slightly concerned. "You think that's a good idea?"

"No, we just bought the premises and stocked the shelves for a laugh, see." Fred took a pinch of Floo powder from the flower pot, tossed it into the fire then stepped into the rising emerald flames, shouting, "Diagon Alley!"

George gave a reassuring wink back at his mother, who looked sick at the thought of yet more of her family leaving the safety of _The Burrow_. "We'll be fine, Mum. Give us a shout if you need us. We'll be back by six." Then he stepped into the flames and vanished.

--

Diagon Alley felt unusually still and sombre. Normally there were shop vendors and early morning dealers out for a quick bargain, but most of the windows and doors were shuttered and locked, and there was hardly a witch or wizard to be seen along the cobbled lane.

"So," George clapped his hands together, "what's our plan then?"

Fred smirked wickedly. "If you can't beat 'em with brawn, beat 'em with cunning. The way I figure it, the best way to break fear is to mock it relentlessly."

"Mock the Dark Lord? The very idea's preposterous."

"Ludicrous," Fred agreed.

"Outrageous, even."

"Not to mention dangerous."

George nodded sagely. "Life-threateningly so."

Fred beamed. "Right up our alley."

"Let's get to work."

**oOo**

It was 7:30 in the morning when Xenophilius Lovegood at last decided it was safe to return home.

Luna plodded around the little Glasgow flat, peering around at the collection of strange knick-knacks and maps. They were by no means any stranger than the collection her own house hoarded. Indeed, after browsing a few minutes, Luna recognised quite a number of artefacts, a pile of old _Quibblers_ and one of her very favourite books: _Treaties of Tyr Na Nog_ by Edward Balthazar McRozen, the very man – or Squib – whose flat she had woken in.

A long bandage had been wrapped several times around Luna's head, the sunflower she had earlier worn in her long hair having been removed. Her yellow dress was also looking a bit worse for wear, so Edward ushered her into his daughter's room and told her to pick out some old clothes from the wardrobe, assuring her that his daughter would not mind.

Luna cast a curious glance at the girl lying in the bed who had cracked one sleepy grey eye open. She did not look much like her portly, moustached father; quite the opposite, in fact. But Luna decided she had a very kind face, even if it was not smiling.

She beamed, warmly and said, "Good morning."

The girl nodded, sleepily. "_Murphffle mur…_"

"My name is Luna Lovegood. I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Nish to meet shyoo," she slurred and rolled over so that her face was now firmly implanted in her pillow.

"Would you mind if I borrowed some clothes?" asked Luna. The reply she received was garbled nonsense, but it had a positive ring to it, so Luna picked a plain shirt and trousers from the wardrobe and wandered through to the sitting room where her father was deep in conversation with the Squib. Both men looked uncharacteristically serious, heads bent together in low conversation. They were quick to pull away from each other when she re-entered the room.

"Oh – Luna!" Edward beamed. "You look charming, an absolute vision! I was just discussing with your father your current living arrangements. Perhaps it would be safer for the both of you if you were to stay here for a time, ay?"

Luna shook her head, kindly. "No thank you, but that is very kind of you to offer. Daddy has some work to do on _The Quibbler_ now that You-Know-Who has returned."

Xenophilius nodded glumly. "No doubt _The Prophet _will be churning out more anti-Potter garbage and trying to convince us all that these dreadful Death Eaters have merely been employed to do a spot of redecorating."

"No doubt, dear cracker, no doubt." Edward fixed him with a very serious look. "As long as you are aware that while you write the truth in your paper, Philius, you're bound to catch _his_ attention."

"Fools and cowards all," said Xenophilius, echoing Edward's words the night before.

Luna watched them share a long look, sad yet full of pride, and grimly shake hands. Then she took up her place beside her father and with a turn and a _crack_, they Disapparated home.

**oOo**

A loud _CRACK_ reverberated around the little flat on Victoria Road. Gertrude Nox shot up in bed with a start, smacking her head off a shelf, which in turn triggered an avalanche of books that came raining down on top of her. Releasing a train of expletives, which would have made a Death Eater blush, Nox clawed her way out of the small mountain of books and grabbed her alarm clock. Quarter to eight. The alarm wasn't due to go off for another ten minutes.

"What's that old coot up to now?" she mumbled to herself, rubbing the tender lumps on her skull. "I hope you're not demolishing the telly again!" she shouted.

There was a pause. Then, "Demolish? Dear me, perish the thought!"

Nox took this to mean, "There was a curious blue wire protruding out the back of the television, so I deemed it necessary to do some investigating, only it _could_ be argued that my investigations landed me with rather more blue wires than I started out with, hence the unfortunate explosion which awoke you ten minutes earlier than you had intended to wake. Would you like a spot of tea?"

She sighed. "Tea's great, thanks."

"Right'o!"

She groped around for her glasses then stumbled into the sitting room at the forefront of their shared two bedroomed flat. The TV set looked remarkably un-fiddled with and the grey morning light coming in through the window was reflecting off the single malt sitting beside two empty shot glasses on the table in front of her. Nox frowned at the glasses, then at the TV, then back to the glasses again, as if they had both caused her the most grievous insult.

She scratched her chin, then called through to the adjoining kitchen, "Did you have visitors in here last night, Ed?"

Nox never addressed her father by anything but his name. That would suggest that Edward executed his job faultlessly and while he was very good at bringing her cups of tea in the morning and grotesque monkey paws and other strange severed animal limbs from far abroad, most of which claimed to boost fertility odds dramatically (she found these particular gifts and the subtle hinting behind them quite insulting), but the truth of the matter was that the only person in the flat who fulfilled parental duties – such as shopping, cooking, cleaning, paying bills and working yourself into an early grave – was _her_.

Edward's voice was distinctively flustered when he answered her. "Er – no, no one, not a soul, only 'Philius and Luna, but other than that, the flat has not seen a single being." He trotted into the sitting room, holding a tray of chipped teacups and a pot missing half its spout.

Nox counted the cups and quirked one eyebrow. "Three?"

"Well you can hardly expect Caithion to sit there dry mouthed."

A second eyebrow rose up to join the other. "Caith– ?"

She turned around in her chair and found herself face to face with her father's work colleague. The Irishman often arrived in this way – seemingly out of nowhere and always with a lit cigarette glowing at his lips. Caithion Sidhe was another of her father's friends, the only one that Nox knew personally – probably because, even though he claimed to have a flat somewhere else, he never actually _left. _He had to be one of the oddest people Nox knew. First and foremost, she didn't know his real age, because although he looked much younger than Edward, he FELT older. Then there was his physical presence. Standing at a good six foot two, he towered over most people. His grammar and diction were near perfect, although he never talked about his education; he had no high social standing and yet she had seen men with money coming out their ears cower in his presence. Black was his colour, with few exceptions and every once in a while she would catch him wearing the strangest glasses - bright saffron yellow rectangular lenses, connected to wiggly-wire ear-hooks. Caithion held a general disdain for people and he smoked _a lot_, which explained the cloud of smoke he breathed delicately over her head.

"Good morning, my dear. You look…" His narrowed eyes ranged over her scruffy dark hair, baggy pyjamas and squint glasses. "Awake."

She smiled. "Thanks. And you're more disdainful and sarcastic than ever, I see."

"One does try."

"The usual black, Caith?" Edward was asking, pouring the tea into the three chipped and leaking cups. Nox noticed with a start that her father's hands were trembling slightly.

Caithion nodded and if he did notice the boiling hot liquid spilling over the brim of his teacup and onto his lap, he certainly did not show it. "Black's fine, Ed."

They sat and sipped their tea in subdued silence, except Edward who only sat and stared at his teacup as though its depths were as deep as the ocean's. Nox watched him over the brim of her own cup. Something felt particularly grey about this Monday morning. Mondays, by unwritten law, are always grey and miserable, sun or no sun, but this Monday felt more driech than usual. Perhaps it was the change of mood in her father that brought the grey in. Perhaps all Mondays were like this, only Edward chased the worst of them away with his perpetually sunny disposition.

Nox felt her heart drop into her stomach as she studied his profile. He was definitely thinking about _something_ and that something had to be quite terrible if he was not ranting her ears off about the latest speculation on the location of Merlin's tomb, or the differing habits of Shetland werewolves, or the Phantom Dogs of Arasaig (Edward held a certain bizarre fondness for the topic of demonic hounds; Nox knew better than to ask why).

Monday's issue of _The Times_ was sitting neatly on the table. As no one seemed interested in sharing a conversation, she picked it up and began to read. Apparently the sour mood wasn't just inside their apartment; it had infiltrated the news too – not that the news was ever exceedingly positive, but Nox found herself shaking her head in disbelief over every second article printed. One black and white photo showed the remains of an old bungalow where an entire family had been blown up (something about a gas leak) and another article further down the page detailed the ruthless murder of an elderly couple and their dog in Stoke-on-Trent. After ten more equally depressing articles, Nox folded the paper over and left the table.

She promptly changed into her work clothes, which were just as baggy on her skinny, featureless body as her pyjamas were, and roped her straggly mess of hair together in an elastic band, deciding on leaving the flat ten minutes earlier than she needed to. Maybe the air outside was a little less heavy (but considering this was Glasgow, that seemed as unlikely as Caithion turning up for work in a floral dress). Besides, she was a quarter way through her probationary year as a detective-in-training, and arriving a bit early wasn't going to harm her final write-up. She pulled on her boots and returned to the kitchen.

"I'll grab the shopping on the way home," she said, plopping a quick kiss on Edward's head, adding, "_Be good_," for safe measure. Edward shot her a smile that she knew was supposed to appear innocent, but instead looked like the smile of a 10-year-old boy who knew he had the house to his self for the whole day.

Nox cast the slim, smoky figure of Caithion a 'take care of him' look, and left the flat.

The moment Edward heard the door click, his blue eyes rose to meet the Irishman's.

"Why did you keep your blasted mouth shut, Caith?" He ran his hands over his face and through his thinning, fluffing hair.

Caithion sighed deeply. He knew what was coming.

"People could have been killed! _Killed!_ I realise you deal with that every measly second of every blasted day, but Hell's Bells, it was a wedding! _Bill's_ wedding, confound it all, and HIM back! _Really back _– the Ministry under his control; saw it with my own eyes, Rufus Scrimgeour DEAD, though you'll already know that of course, you Grim Bungler. Merlin, what a muckle! And Harry Potter disappeared to who knows where, poor lad; same age as my Nox that boy is and to imagine her in the same place as Potter, running and hiding from Him, _HIM_, damnation, and Death Eaters! Masks and all, just like before! How could you keep your dear, bony trap shut? What precious, blasted, blithering rule would you have broken with one measly word of warning?"

"The most important rule of all." Caithion had kept very still throughout Edward's ranting, neither smoking nor draining the last of his ice-cold tea. "I cannot interfere, Ed. You know that. I thought you understood that." For the briefest of moments something akin to regret flashed across his face then he pulled a packet of Marlboro Reds from his shirt pocket, pulled a stick out and lit it between his lips. "Besides, the future's always changing, especially at these sorts of times – prophecies do tend to toss things about as you well know." He leaned back into his chair, blowing a ring of smoke into the air, which transformed into a butterfly and flitted out the open window. One eye slid towards Edward. His friend was leaning his head in one hand.

Finally, Edward said a little hoarsely, "And the Weasleys?"

Caithion smiled. "Not their time yet."

"Good… _Good_…" He lifted the bottle of Glen Moray and gazed at its empty contents with an expression of amusement. "And here I was saving this for a jollier occasion."

"There's blood on the couch."

"Hmm, Luna's I'm afraid – 'Philius's daughter." He smiled wryly and added, "My Goddaughter. She's fine, she's fine. Just a bump on the head. Gave 'Philius one heck of a scare. I don't blame him." Edward got to his feet and walked to the windows overlooking Victoria Road and the dome of the Botanical Gardens. "I had expected something. Every dear fool with any sense did. Alas, as it was, _He_ still managed to catch us off-guard. Just like last time."

"Did you speak to him?"

Edward avoided his gaze, mumbling a hasty, "Who?"

Caithion shot him a cautionary look. "Ed, I've warned you – don't get too close to that boy. Knowing what you know, and knowing what he _doesn't_ know, you might very well land the both of you in more trouble than what it's worth."

"Good grief, could Fred _be_ in any more trouble than he is already? What harm is there in giving the wretch one word of warning?"

"Because that isn't the way the world works. Besides, the future is always in motion. I couldn't tell you _how_ it will happen, even if I wanted to." He tapped some ash into his tea-cup, looking grim. "I'm only the collector. I'm never the cause."

**oOo**

Down a narrow cobblestone lane, in a shop numbered 93 Diagon Alley, a young man with flame red hair and nut-brown freckles shivered abruptly and sneezed.

His twin grinned, bemused. "Blimey, you done? Nearly blew me out the bleeding shop there."

"Sorry," Fred laughed, rubbing his nose along the back of his hand. "Someone must be dancing on my grave."

**oOo**

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**A/N:** Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please let me know what you think! Cheersxx


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